


At First A Spark

by Miss_Stargazer



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Elrond makes a short appearance, Gen, M/M, Rivendell | Imladris, Second Age, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Stargazer/pseuds/Miss_Stargazer
Summary: Glorfindel and Erestor spar with each other.





	At First A Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Basically what it says on the tin (and what is Elrond doing there?).

“Erestor!” Glorfindel called out to the counsellor as he strode past the training fields. “A match between friends?” 

At this point, the question was merely perfunctory. Erestor had denied him a sparring match as long as they had known each other. In the beginning, it had vexed Glorfindel to no end, and his curiosity had driven him to great lengths to convince the counsellor, before he had given Erestor up as a lost cause. His stubborn determination was the stuff of legends in Imladris, after all, and even the Balrog Slayer was no challenge for it. 

Therefore, Erestor's answer caught him so off guard, he had to blink to adjust to the whiplash the unexpected comeback gave him.

“Why not? I have not had a good match in centuries.”

“What?” Glorfindel grinned in triumph. “Truly?”

“Yes, Captain, truly. Your persistent efforts have not gone unnoticed and I am feeling gracious enough today to grant your wish. If only to stop you from pestering me any longer. However, I will not fight with that.” Erestor pushed away the sword one of Glorfindel's overly eager students presented to him.

“I will get my own weapons, if you please, and will join you here again shortly.”  
With that he turned on his heels and hurried back into the house, presumably to get his weapons as he had said and, Glorfindel thought, to change into a more fitting attire than his dark counsellor's robes. Delighted as he was about Erestor's change of mind, he could not help but ask why now? After nearly three centuries of unsuccessful queries what had prompted the mysterious counsellor to finally give in to Glorfindel's request? 

But he would have to ponder the matter later, because there Erestor was, clothes indeed changed and two long, wickedly curved knives in one hand. 

Glorfindel could not help but let his eyes rake over Erestor whom he had never seen out of his heavy, flowing robes. In a similar fashion to the warriors around him he wore supple black leather pants, a tunic reinforced with leather and light boots. For practicality's sake he had braided his hair into a thick rope falling to his waist which accentuated his large eyes and high cheekbones rather nicely. 

“Ready, Counsellor?” Glorfindel asked, smirking. 

“Always, dear Balrog Slayer” he shot back without missing a beat. Together they made their way to the sand pit that served as their training grounds. Excellent to practice ones standing on. Glorfindel suddenly felt prickly and nervous, his stomach fluttering. Although he had put much effort in getting Erestor to where he now was, he had never thought as far ahead as this and he realized with a start that he had no idea what to expect of him fighting. Well, no turning back now. Besides, Glorfindel's banked curiosity had returned to burn through him with vengeance, and he craved the opportunity to spar with an equal opponent for once. He had no doubt that Erestor would prove to be that.

Without further talking they took to their respective corners and got ready. Glorfindel bounced on his toes and felt a rush of battle fever course through him, making all his senses feel more acute. He breathed deep and calm to reach that state where the world narrowed down to attack and reaction. 

Glancing over he saw Erestor mirror him on all accounts. Strangely, he did not look out of place in his fighting garments and a gleaming dagger in each hand. He looked at home. No trace of apprehension was on his delicate features, only calm calculation.  
They waited for the signal to begin. Glorfindel tensed like a feather ready to be released, and when at last the signal came he rushed forward to bring down the first strike. The sun glimmered on the daggers as they were raised to block his attack. Another strike, another. Steel clanked on steel as Erestor diverted every one of his blows with the same measured confidence he displayed in front of the counsel. He was quick and graceful in fight and made the utmost use of the flexibility and speed knives provided in a match. He was an excellent opponent, Glorfindel noted, delighted. Now to see what he was really capable of. 

Where Glorfindel had held back before, had pulled his blows, slowed his attacks and moved with lazy elegance, he began putting true effort into showing off skills he rarely had use for anymore. Lightning fast rained the blows of his sword down on Erestor. His feet danced over the sand of the pit and starlight radiated from his eyes, even as he threw a wild grin Erestor's way. It was returned, with equal ferocity. The daggers blurred with the speed he put on to counter Glorfindel's sword and he jumped and spun to avoid getting backed into a corner. That was not to say, though, that he did not dole out attacks himself. He was far from passive in this match and there were close calls on both sides when they nearly broke trough each other's defences. When that happened they would both bark out laughter resonating with wild, unrestrained joy and get back into the other's space in a flash.

There was nothing outside strike and counterstrike in the long minutes their fight lasted, and they hardly realized how a crowd formed around them, chanting and cheering them on. 

Elrond himself had been lured out by the commotion outside, and was watching from a nearby balcony with Celebrian at his side. The secretive, pleased half smile on his face alerted his wife that there was more to the fight then it seemed and if she knew her husband at all, he had his fingers all over the matter. She whispered a question into his ear and squealed when he smirked in answer.

Erestor and Glorfindel were both nearing exhaustion. Sweat gleamed on their faces and their arms were getting heavier and slower by increments. Still, they would not stop their dance until there was a winner. Expectant silence descended over the spectators. 

Thud. 

One of Erestor's daggers vibrated where it had plunged into the soft ground. With only one knife left it was a matter of minutes until the edge of Glorfindel's sword lay on Erestor's throat. The hand gripping the remaining dagger hung uselessly by his side.

They were motionless for long moments, both elves panting with exertion. Glorfindel was so very close to him, he could make out silvery specks in the stormy grey of Erestor's eyes. His cheeks were reddened from the effort of the fight and Glorfindel found himself entranced by the dichotomy of this fierce warrior that was also the severe counsellor he had known for more than three centuries. Erestor held his gaze fearlessly, as he always did, and quirked a smile.

“Looks like I lost.”

“You lost today, Counsellor, and only by bad luck. May I ask, if you would be amenable to a rematch tomorrow?”

Erestor laughed. “You may ask, but tomorrow I will not move a muscle more than I must. Already I can sense the soreness setting in. It has been a while since I have wielded my knives, after all. Besides, contrary to other people here, I have duties to attend to other than indulging in sparring matches with you, as entertaining as they turned out to be. ”

He must have seen the disappointment in Glorfindel's eyes, because he then amended, “but if I must, I will join you again next week for that rematch. Who knows, I may best you yet.”

Even this concession had Glorfindel giddy with anticipation and he found that he was already looking forward to their next fight. He lowered his sword and stepped back, while Erestor went to retrieve his second dagger. He sheathed them with a sure, fluid motion that said almost as much about his expert handling of the blades as his fighting did, and surprised Glorfindel by gripping his arm in a warrior's clasp. 

“Well fought, Captain,” he smiled. The smile then morphed into a smirk that had a sense of foreboding settle into Glorfindel's stomach even before he continued. “I expect your paperwork on my desk in the morning.”

And with that and a shallow bow Erestor spun around and walked away. Glorfindel groaned in his wake as he thought about the veritable mountain of paperwork that had grown in his office during the course of the week. It would be a long night for him.


End file.
